


Sixty-three

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Challenge Response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-15
Updated: 2007-09-15
Packaged: 2019-02-05 18:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Written for the Battlestar Galactica "Ordinary People" Challenge.





	Sixty-three

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

_Sixty-three_

 

Sarah crossed another square off on the small calendar she kept in the headboard of the bunk assigned to her. 

 

63.

 

Sixty-three days in space. Sixty-three days since the Cylon attack. Her first trip beyond the atmosphere of Aerilon had been the afternoon of the attack. Her husband had pushed her through the closing doors of an off-planet shuttle, yelling not to worry, he'd take the next one.

 

63 days.

 

She straightened the rough-wool cover given to her by one of the ship's crew. She was one of the lucky ones. Blankets were hard to come by with colonists stuffed into every conceivable meter of space, far more than the training ship had been designed to carry. The berthing compartment was always cold and there weren't enough blankets to go around. Heating the ship used precious fuel the survivors could ill afford to waste on luxuries like comfort and warmth. She smoothed out the wrinkles, tucking under the edges neatly just as she had at home. Just as she had on the bed she'd shared with Daniel for 17 years.

 

63 nights.

 

Endless periods of semi-darkness and noise. The compartment had been built for housing students and offered little in the way of privacy. The ever-present hum of the ship's ventilation systems were punctuated by the opening and closing of doors as occupants made bathroom calls, came and went in the night, or just paced away the loneliness and the dark. She could hear the laboured breathing of those sick or still healing from injuries, the muffled sobs of those grieving family and friends and familiarity. The loudest sounds were the ones she couldn't hear any more; the kid from next door, coming home late, the inevitable argument between father and son, the traffic on the street, an occasional dog, Daniel's soft snoring from his side of the bed.

 

63 mornings.

 

Her routine was nearly complete. Leaving the berthing compartment, she made her way down to the mess hall that served a plain but filling breakfast. From there to a small classroom, converted to an office for disseminating information to those on board. General information, on the fleet, on other survivors, opportunities, events, problems. She que'd up to search the hastily printed, endless list of names, hoping to find herself in the litany of those being sought, those lucky few who had someone to look for them.


End file.
